The Dark Lord's Diary
by DarkHarryPotterGirl
Summary: Hermione has the duty to go back in time and kill Tom Riddle before he ever becomes Voldemort. The only object she has that connects her with the young Tom is his old diary. With the help of the diary she goes back into time to 1944, Tom's seventh year.
1. Prologue

_December 1944 _

_Tom Marvolo Riddle_

The young, future Dark Lord gazed at his name, scribbled in delicate cursive writing.

It was an empty name for him. A combination of the men he had never known, didn't care for, and who were now dead.

It didn't matter though. All that he cared for was that the name he bore disgusted him; it held no true meaning. It was only a mask, a fake identity that did not suit his true essence. He had yet to discover his true name.

His long fingers traced the rim of the paper, trailing the sides and feeling the worn out, black leather_. _This was his diary. The one thing he had kept with him throughout all his years at Hogwarts, one of his most precious possessions. This diary, unlike any other in the world, did not hold petty emotions. Its true purpose was to hold his mind; his every thought was poured into this diary along with something so much more sinister.

He dipped his quill into the bottle of ink, smoothed the paper and started writing without wondering how to start. Words, just like in lips, flowed easily in paper to him.

_February 1, 1945 _

_Jane, or as she calls herself, was the only student of my year to stay in Hogwarts for the winter holidays. Now, why would I mention her in here? Here, in this place that rarely holds any names unless they prove to have some useful purpose or is a threat to be removed… This girl, she has the potential to become either one. _

_She hides, in dark corners, behind lies, with a mask that could fool any innocent. She knows that I can see through her, I know that she has no simple academic purpose in this castle and it terrifies her. And I begin to wonder if it involves me… Yes, she hides like a mouse behind books and parchment, keeping only to herself but then she shows this hatred towards me. Since the first day that she transferred here, I can feel her gaze following me, stalking with caution and intensity. _

_Threats do not work against her, for I have warned her not to meddle with me, and it seems to only intensify her determination. _

_She is a threat. She is_—

Tom had been so engrossed in his writing that he had not noticed when someone entered the common room.

"Riddle, you haven't been here in a while."

Tom stopped writing, placed the quill in the bottle. He looked up to see who had entered although he already knew who it was; there was no mistaking the pompous tone, apparently a trademark of his ostentatious family, along with blonde hair.

"Slytherin needed a visit," answered Riddle, lying with ease. The truth was that the Head Girl was searching for him, and he was not in a mood to be bothered with her. "The welcome was a bit lacking, Malfoy."

Abraxas Malfoy was a true upholder of the family name: proud, blonde, arrogant, and sly. Tom had a great distaste for him, but he was tolerating because he knew what an important pawn Abraxas had proven to be.

"And what are you doing?" Abraxes questioned, eyeing the book that Tom was covering under his arm. "Las I knew, there was no work for the holidays."

"Do I have to tell you about my personal researches, Abraxas," Tom stared at him calmly with a small smile.

Malfoy swallowed. Tom's charms could trick professors and other students, but he was one of the few that could feel the murderous intensity he radiated. "No. Of course not," he answered.

Tom nodded, pleased with the response as he pocketed the book. He stood up suddenly, causing Malfoy to take a step back. "I will go to the library. Are you coming?"

"No, it's rather late and I'm expecting a package from my father."

"As you like." That suited him perfectly in fact. Without even another glance at him, Tom left Slytherin's common room. The library was one of the few places in the castle where he could trust to be alone. For now he had much on his mind; he would soon have to settle things with Jane. Little did he know that she too wanted to settle things with him, she wanted him dead.


	2. When All Else Has Failed

_August 1999 _

"_Mrs. Granger." _

_Hermione sat in Dumbledore's office, being called to attend to one of Harry's private lessons. She felt rather nervous, sensing that this was no ordinary meeting between Headmaster and students. Harry's somber expression did nothing to comfort her. _

"_Yes, Professor?" _

"_One more time, I'm afraid, I'll have to ask of you something impossible." _

"_What is it?"she asked, her grip tightening to the chair. _

"_This was actually thought of by Harry, but I agreed to it with conditions."_

"_I don't understand… Harry?" Hermione looked from Dumbledore to Harry in confusion. _

_Dumbledore nodded gently at him. Harry cleared his throat and straightened himself, gathering his thoughts and courage. "This is not easy Hermione," he started. He glanced at Dumbledore who gave him a second encouraging nod. "We all know what's at stake. Voldemort is very powerful; destroying the Horcruxes might be the only way to stop him and he knows that. I won't feel at ease unless there is another way. A second plan." _

"_If everything fails," Dumbledore interjected, feeling that stating failure from his part was too harsh for Harry. "When all else has failed, you must find a way. If it is necessary go back in time to find him, and kill him. There is no one as trustworthy with these matters as you, Hermione."_

"_Why me?" she asked faintly. _

"_You have already traveled through time on numerous occasions, Mrs. Granger. So you, better than anyone, know the dangers and risks of meddling with time. Harry made it very clear that he, and I include myself in his thought, trusts no one else for a task like this." _

"_I understand, but I know that Harry will not fail." _

_Harry gave her a sad smile. _

Busy, relentless ticking.

Clocks, of every kind and size, ticked on endlessly. Marking the somber march of time.

Time. Such a delicate matter. It should never be tampered with. Unless, there is no other option, unless there is nothing more to loose.

A beautiful, dancing, diamond-sparkling light was the only source of illumination; the hundreds of clocks that were in the room gleamed with the dancing light.

The familiar sound filled her with bitter memories for last time she had entered that dark room, she had done so with friends. Members of Dumbledore's Army… Ron… Harry… Now, she was alone, running, not only to save her life—to her it mattered little –but to have one last hope of saving all those she loved. She had only one opportunity to regain all she had lost.

"_When all else has failed, you must find a way." _

Hermione closed her eyes and gritted her teeth as the memory of Dumbledore's words stung. Her fingers clutched the small, black book, pressing it hard against her chest. The sound of hundreds of ticking clocks around her only made the desperation in her heart to grow, they warned her that time was limited.

"_What are the conditions Headmaster?" _

_After the mayhem at the Ministry of your fifth year, time objects are scarce. What I'm going to give you, I will do so only if you promise to not use it unless it is that necessary time._

Panting, out of breath, Hermione reached the giant bell jar that sat on top of a desk; from it radiate the beautiful light. Inside, at the heart of it, the same small egg that she had seen three years before drifted in the glittering wind. It cracked open, the hummingbird came out, and returned once more into the egg, completing the cycle. She placed the book on the desk, her hands fumbled with the neck of her robes.

From her neck hung, on a golden chain, a Time-Turner; violently, she pulled it off. With a flick of her wand she made the small hourglass enter the bell jar. The hourglass started spinning, filling itself with the glittering wind that worked as a current inside the bell jar. When it was full, she pulled it out and took it into her hand.

"Here! This door is locked!" Panic welled up inside her. _"Alohomora!"_ The door was flown open with a bang, followed by the rapid steps of Death Eaters.

Fingers trembling, she poured half of the glittering wind unto the book; the hole that pierced the entire width mended itself and the ink was absorbed by the pages. She exhaled, trying to calm her nerves, otherwise there would be complications in her magic. The tip of her wand rested on the black cover. "_Petrificus Tempus_," she whispered hoarsely. The book radiated a pale, lavender light which seemed to emit a low humming.

"Are you sure she entered the Department of Mysteries?" demanded one man.

"Yes! She has been here before, so look carefully!" retorted the second man.

They were close. So close to getting to her that she feared the enchantment wouldn't be finished. She placed the Time -Turner on the book. "_Tempore-"_ she gasped for air, unable to hold back her tears anymore, "—_Percuriate."_ The lavender light dimmed. She tapped the objects with her wand; the light vanished completely.

"There!" A hooded, masked man stood at the entrance of the room, pointing a finger at her direction. Two more masked men appeared at hearing his call. Hermione slammed the book open to a random page. "_Expulso!_"

The spell barely missed her knee, but the force of it thrust, and sent her sliding flat, through the floor, but not before she had grabbed the time turner.

"Stupefy!" Her spell was blocked; it bounced and hit a desk which, flying collided with the Death Eaters. Swiftly, she stood up, advantaging that moment, and raced for the book.

Her time was up.

She put on the time turner, took a firm grip on the book and turned the hour glass once. Instantly, with a deafening roar, the same lavender light engulfed her and the world around her became blurry.

"She has something of the Dark Lord! Get her!"

Hermione closed her eyes as they cornered her. The roaring in her ears suddenly disappeared. Frozen in place, too afraid to open her eyes, she let seconds pass.

Clocks ticked and all else was quiet. There no longer was any sound of men, no cries, or steps. Hermione opened her eyes, ready to feel the claws of Death Eaters, but there was none. She was alone in the room full of clocks, with the bell jar behind her.

She let out a weak breath of relief.

She had done it. She had gone back in time. There was a promise to keep, to Harry and Dumbledore.

"…_I know that Harry will not fail."_

All of her energy felt like if it had been sucked out of her, unable to hold herself up any longer, she fell to the her knees. At that time, she had been so innocent, so confident that her words were true. Tears and sobs filled the room along with the unstoppable ticking. Hermione hugged the book and wand.

"_Hermione… You remember this diary… Tonight- if I fail, you know what to do—this might help. I'm sorry Hermione, for burdening you." _

Harry Potter's last gift to her. The Dark Lord's diary pressed against her heart.


	3. His Past Is Her Present

Hermione fanned through the book. When only a third of the diary remained, she finally saw something; on the upper left of a page was a date, _August 29 1944_. There was nothing else written in the diary but that date.

She inspected the pages more closely, bringing them to eye level. The diary looked like new: The pages were clean, the leather was unscathed, except that there was a faint beige blotch on the center of all pages, where the Basilisk´s fang had pierced through.

The winds of time had mended only the physical and magical aspects of the diary before it was turned into a Horcrux, the damage concerning the soul could never be fixed, it was gone. The stain was proof of that. She had feared to somehow, fix the Horcrux when the glittering winds of the bell jar were poured. Fortunately, it wasn't.

She then remembered the Time-Turner. Pulling the thin chain, she took hold of the hourglass that dangled from it.

It was completely empty.

With trembling legs, she got up. Suddenly, her eyesight got blurry, everything out of focus, and pain throbbed from her temples. It took her several blinks and a hand applying pressure to her head for the after effects of time traveling to vanish.

Hermione had never traveled so far back, time was not meant to be changed so drastically, and it had taken all her knowledge of time-traveling magic to pull it through. She had taken a huge leap of faith, not really knowing if her spells and diary would work, or how, but now she could guess much of what had happened. She looked at the diary; the one thing that made it possible, it was the connection to that era, to Voldemort's past. By fixing it, the written memories of the young man in it were restored too, and by connecting it to the Time-Turner, she had traveled back to the 29th of August of 1944.

She placed the Time-Turner inside the bell jar, filling it once more. There was nothing to back up her theory, but she guessed that if the winds transported her to the 1940´s, then they would also help in getting her to the future, her present.

There was a light knock on the door.

"Minister…" A head appeared behind the door.

The Minister for Magic, Henry Bulwark, a stout wizard on his late forties sat behind a large, wooden desk. His eyes heavily decorated with wrinkles and bags under them left the mess of papers scattered on his desk and went to the door.

"What is it Richards?" he called tiredly.

"Sir, we got –a situation," the wizard answered hesitantly.

"Come in then! Come in!" called Henry, glad to have a reason to push away all the overwhelming paperwork.

Instead of coming in, Richards retrieved his head, talked to someone outside before pushing the door open. Richards, tall and serious, ushered inside a short, curly haired girl. The Minister eyed the girl, wondering what situation could she possible be in, or have created, to be brought with such a manner. The somber expression on her face did nothing to cheer him up.

"Pardon, but I think we've met young lady, what's your name?" Henry's eyes were now wide open, taking away the tired look.

The girl clenched her fists, her back stiffened. "My name is -," she raised her head, a new determined gleam in her eyes, "—it is Jean Turner," she answered, letting out a short, sharp sigh.

"Well, Miss. Turner, please sit down." The Minister pointed at the chair before him. "And someone explain what the situation is all about." Jean took the seat and sat up straight as a board, while Richards towered behind her.

"Miss. Turner was found wondering near the entrance of the Department of Mysteries. With no identification of any kind," explained Richards, not hiding at all the suspicion from his voice. "All she was caring was her wand and a small, unused journal."

The Minister raised his eyebrows. "Care to explain?"

"Actually, I do," she answered, strength in her voice. "I don't know this place, when I entered I was looking for the right office to help me, I got lost."

"You came alone?"

Jean nodded. "I'm a refugee."

"A refugee… From where?"

Ever since the war had started, spreading all over Europe, even wizards and witches were caught in the middle of that human disaster and the battle with the dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald; hundreds of wizards and witches had fled their countries.

"France," she answered bluntly.

"France?" The Minister glanced at Richards. "You don't have much of an accent. In fact, no accent at all."

"I wasn't born there." Jean spent the next quarter of an hour explaining to the Minister how her life was now a mess; her parents were British, and so was she, but when she was ten years old they had moved to France. With the out comings of a human world war, they rarely left home.


	4. Starting New

September 1, 1944

They were running late. Punctuality was a lacking trait in heroes. The second they enter, they would be bursting with conversation; Ron badmouthing Malfoy's new scheme and Harry would be pondering about the latest threat on his life. Hermione would reason with them; cast out their idiotic ideas and give logic to their senses. All they had to do was enter the compartment.

The Hogwarts Express remained silent.

Hermione, tortured by the unchanged train, pushed the thoughts away. It was unnerving to feel uncomfortable in a place from which she had so many fond memories. Sitting there, she felt back at home. If only it were just another ride in the Hogwarts Express.

There were details that brought her back to reality: King Cross had an older, unclean look, and the sky reflected the ongoing of the human war with black skies and smoke. Whenever she looked down to see the little, black book on her lap a sharp pain stabbed her heart.

She held the book with both hands, covering the engraved name in cursive writing: _Tom Marvolo Riddle._

Minutes dragged on. Young wizards and witches began to arrive to the train station. Soon the train was busy with activity. Hermione stared as a family clung to their young one, stretching their time together as much as possible.

Unable to take it any longer, Hermione opened her trunk and thrust the diary inside. The thing was driving her insane; it only made the weight of her burden increase whenever she looked at it. She sighed as someone entered the compartment.

"Oh, I'm sorry is this taken?"

The girl, with jet-black hair and honey colored eyes, blushed at seeing Hermione.

"No… I mean—you can sit down if you want," answered Hermione.

"Thank you," the girl answered, rather relieved. "I won't bother you for long, I'm Head Girl so I'll be gone most of the time."

"It's not a bother." Hermione smiled weakly.

"I don't believe I know you… My name is Kate Boysly." The Head Girl extended her hand towards Hermione.

"Nice to meet you Kate," Hermione said. "I'm Jean. Jean Turner." The words came out slowly. It was the first time she had introduced herself with her new name so carelessly. It left a bitter taste in her tongue.

"What year?" asked Kate, hauling her trunk inside and lifting it onto the seat.

"Seventh."

"You must be new then. That's my year. I had never met a student entering late," Kate said while pulling her robes out of the semi-open trunk. "I'm a Gryffindor. Have you been sorted yet?"

Kate had a special gleam in her eyes, shining brighter as she spoke. Hermione at first didn't recognize it, but after careful observation she knew what it was: Happiness. The past year had been filled with war and death, with sorrow painfully marked in everyone's face. Horrified, she realized that Kate was the first person with true happiness she had met in a long time.

"Yes… I'm in Ravenclaw, actually. Headmaster Dippet sorted me in our interview," Hermione answered, cursing herself for her slow responses; Kate would soon figure out that she was thinking through her answers too much. Hermione's plan included avoiding suspicion of any kind. Master Dippet had been easy to fool, he wasn't known for a bright mind, and had rather liked Hermione. Professor Dumbledore had not gone to the interview, luckily. He would be very hard to convince with her tales and lies, she was dreading the moment when they would meet.

"You're a smart girl then. Good." Kate nodded firmly. "We need more of those." She was in the middle of inserting an arm inside her uniform's sleeve when a shadow passed silently. "Oi, Riddle!" She hastily pulled on her robe.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. Her hand went to her wand.

The figure returned and spoke bored, "What do you want, Boysly?"

Tom Riddle, tall, slender, and pale stood at the entrance of the compartment. His icy, grey eyes glanced momentarily at Hermione before Kate. Hermione held her breath. Like prey at its final moment, hoping against all that the predator would not be able to find it if there was no breath to hear. His black hair was neatly combed back, he already wore his uniform- with the Head Boy badge pinned to it –and she couldn't help notice that an elegant touch laid on his appearance.

Kate and the boy talked for a couple of minutes, Kate did most of the talking, but Hermione was too busy with her mind, deciding whether he was the Riddle she was looking for or not. The Riddle that she would kill.

"I'll be there in a moment," Kate said. Riddle walked away.

"Was that the Head Boy?" Hermione asked timidly, playing well her part of new student.

Kate grunted, finishing pinning her badge. "Yes," she answered, sucking the finger she had pricked with the badge. "Quite a specimen, that Tom Riddle. He's a Slytherin, to my misfortune, _but_ I do think he deserves the job." She winked at Hermione. "I got to warn you though, handsome as he looks, he has nothing but poison in his heart."

Hermione frowned. "Oh! No, no no," she blurted. "I was just asking, trying to know the authorities," she added trying to conceal the hatred growing inside her.

"I see…" The train gave a sudden lurch and shake. The wheels slowly started rolling as the Hogwarts Express was set in motion. "I have to go and talk with the prefects, but I'll be back soon." Hermione nodded and watched as Kate left.

Finding herself suddenly alone, with nothing but her hate and sorrow, frightened her. Tom Riddel, even before becoming Voldemort, was dangerous. She now could understand the anguish that had crushed Harry for so long; murdering was not an easy task, even if the fate of all your loved ones depended on it.

Hermione opened and closed her trunk. She sighed. Once more, she peeped inside the trunk, grabbed the diary, and pocketed into her robe without looking at it. Long ago, she had scolded Harry for being so obsessive of the mysterious book he had found, and now it was she who fretted every time it wasn't on her grasp. It was too risky to leave it alone, the return to her present depended on it, if she were ever to return. If somebody saw it, questions would arise, why did she have a book with the Head Boy's name on it? Voldemort would surely question her.

She cringed at thinking of the name. He wasn't the Dark Lord yet, he had not cursed his name yet, but still, being so close to him was enough to make her paranoid.

Hermione was one of the last to step into Hogsmeade Station. First years huddled together, fidgeting with nerves that spread over to Hermione as she relived her first year over again.

"Oi! Jean!"

Hermione kept on wandering, unable to decide in which carriage to go; half of them were already stuffed.

"Jean." A hand touched her shoulder, making her jump around in alert. "You alright?" asked Kate worriedly. "I've been calling you for a while."

Hermione took a minute to catch her breath, calming her paranoid heart. "So- sorry," she replied breathlessly. "I thought you were calling another Jean." Truth was she wasn't used to her new name yet.

"Sorry if I scared you." Kate smiled. "Well I was just wondering if you wanted to go in the same carriage as me, I'll help you get around Hogwarts."

Hermione bit her lower lip in thought. Kate was being very friendly with her, gratitude warmed her troubled heart, but she also worried that befriending the Head Girl would attract unnecessary attention to herself.

Kate took her silence as a 'yes', grabbed her by the arm and pulled her along. "Don't worry, you're not the only one. As I did my rounds I learned that other kids also transferred from Durmstrang, they're a bit younger but still transfers."

Hermione let Kate guide her through the crowds, processing the new information. In her years in school she had never heard of wizards and witches transferring schools; Draco Malfoy had once boasted that his father would enroll him in Durmstrang, but that never happened. Grindelwald's war was behind these new students, he was terrorizing the school. Kate interrupted her thoughts at arriving to a carriage.

"Here we go," she announced. "Go on, hop!"

She did so without complaint, finding Kate's chirpy commands impossible to fight. Hermione climbed the steps, poked her head in and gasped. Her hand slipped from the door. She would have fallen back hadn't it been for Kate who pushed her in. "What's wrong?"

For the third time that day Hermione urged her beating heart to calm. In front of her, calm and poised sat the monster that lurked her nightmares. Tom Riddle.


End file.
